random thoughts, feelings
by hioebis
Summary: chapter two up! idiocy, creepiness, boredom, genki- story goes after my mood. yeah! don't know if I'm going on with this yet, but it seems, I am. All stories are POVs, rated pg13 for angst in first part.
1. goddess

Random thoughts, feelings.  
  
Frustration release?  
  
Disclaimer: Now now, who would think I should run around freely after this? Never mind, I don't mind either. So, this is a fanfic entirely consisting of POVs of Weißkreuz characters, twisted, you see. Maybe I'll put say and humor and ncs in if I feel like it. None of the charas belong to me, 'm not making profit or things, don't sue me or I go kill myself and you've got a problem.  
  
To be frank, this is what I write when I want to simply write something, I think it's good, and you can't change anything.  
  
Anyone who reads this, think on yourself if I'm screaming lunatic, you can't do anything on that, either.  
  
(***)  
  
People think that we, I, don't believe in God. We don't. Or at least I refuse to believe in someone who's supposed to care for all of us and did for no one. I don't believe there is a God. But surprisingly, I believe in gods, a goddess, to be precise. Not one who's shining with divine light and beautifies human life and smiles and says that everyone who does good goes to heaven. It's no use. Everyone goes to hell, I will. My goddess is the goddess of death, of death of love and other things. She is glorious, I love such goddesses, and doesn't appear dressed in towels. Instead she's never fully dressed. And she's drenched in blood when ever I see her in my dreams, bloody like the day I freshly killed her. Yeah that's right, I killed her. Here I have to confess that she, before she became my sweet goddess in dream and wake, had been a living person once. She died. And I was the one who killed her. Not with my own hands, but then who is giving attention to details? Details are unimportant. Miss goddess comes to me everyday, every morning, midday, night, whenever she wishes and fairly often. I didn't expect her to appear fully dressed and without a trace of blood but something like mutate glasses on her face. They said she had been reborn, 'new'. I was the only one who saw that it was my goddess, and for the first time after she became a goddess, I talked to her. Not what other people would call normal conversation, though. She told me she got tired of me, she didn't want to be with me anymore, she wants to leave me. Indeed she wanted to become wife or mistress or whatever of another man. I couldn't let that happen, understand, I was in no means ready to give her away to anyone, so I killed her, again. Isn't that curious that you can kill a person two times in a row and she still returns to you and you kill her every day every night every moment you close you eyes until you don't know anymore if it was you killing her or killing yourself. Everything is so red. I like red, you see, I live with red everyday - the red of blood, of... Argh, for example of that lunatic that lives right beside where I...er... live. But now I live in red. And it's pleasant. I swim in red, I'm alone, finally alone, and I don't feel anything now. It's getting dark and cold but really, I'm not feeling that anymore, either. If I do I don't know and I don't care. I feel tired. 


	2. la vita è bella

Random thoughts, feelings.  
  
Disclaimers: Weiß Kreuz doesn't belong to me, nor do the characters. I'm not doing this for profit, only for fun, and hell, this is fun. Don't sue me, you'd fall over if you knew how little money I have. Ack.  
  
(***)  
  
Ah! Sugoi, ne? I got an A in my test again, I do every time and it's really nice, you know. The others don't say much except to pat on my head when they find out or when I tell them. I generally don't tell them, because it really is none of their concern.  
  
Understand, I in no way mean that they don't care about me. But we all stick to our own business normally, and we are happy about it. Today the sun shined all day, I love it. I love the way every day of my life seems so beautiful and I love the smiles and the laughter I hear. Everywhere.  
  
Something's happened with one of my teammates, I know it, though he won't let me know. And it's getting worse. In fact I seem to notice many things the others think they are hiding well or things they don't really notice themselves. They so like to think that they have poker faces and I the chibi won't understand. Hihi... Let them think that.  
  
Sometimes I look out and see lots and lots of girls and I start to search until I realize that the person I'm searching for is long gone. Under the earth where she won't have belonged, so young, if it was not for me.  
  
Then I would look down on my hands in the nights and see the blood, and I ask myself over and over again if the horrid look on their faces, the begging, the talking of friends and families before they die, die by my hands doesn't indicate enough that they too, are normal humans. And that I am making a mistake.  
  
Always then I'll start to doubt, to fear, to notice somewhere from deep inside where I am buried that something is wrong, that maybe this is not what I think or would like to think it is. And I want to scream.  
  
No. This isn't right. I won't think like that and I've never had problems living without such thoughts. Yes, they come again and again to catch me off guard, but I know, I know that what I'm doing is right. That I'm fighting against the evil, and that no price is too high when I could rid all bad from the face of earth, so no one will suffer again like I, we, all had. After all, I never forgive the bad ones. And someone has to do the job. If I didn't do it, someone else will.  
  
/And if there is no purpose./  
  
Some days, when the deed is done and we can no more, then, maybe the ones I love will stop hurting, hurting so bad, because I know they do. And the innocents will hurt less, too, because there won't be so many to hurt them anymore.  
  
/If there is no right and no wrong./  
  
I will protect them, the strong and the weak, my friends and all the other people I love so much.  
  
/No white. Nothing that is white./  
  
And I'll live my own life and...  
  
Yawn, I'm tired. I think I'll go to sleep now, what do you think?  
  
Oyasumi!  
  
And the look in the dead men's eyes and the person that is no longer there are forgotten.  
  
I have always been good at forgetting things.  
  
Yawn. Hehe... 


	3. dolls, dolls

Random thoughts, feelings  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Disclaimers: Weißkreuz and it's characters don't belong to me, nope, 'd have liked that though...  
  
(***)  
  
Nonchalance, that's as good a word for him as it is bad.  
  
It's just that he doesn't care anymore about much of anything when he looks out of the window. This world holds nothing for him, nothing to love nor to hate. Life is filled with fleeing emotions and impressions he doesn't understand, doesn't want to understand and can't take hold of.  
  
So frail, he is so frail you can imagine to see his bones through his unhealthily pale skin when light falls upon him. A marble statue, no, a porcelain doll with a child's body, an adult's face and a dead man's heart, that's what he is.  
  
Strong, weak, but above all, dead.  
  
In a flash of light, flying debris and screams, his life has been buried when everything was stripped from him. His sanity he lost shortly after, among things, in all the beating, the spitting, the humiliation, pain of molestation. Until one day, he blew it all up and never had problems again.  
  
Tokyo, he despises it when he looks at it now, simply for the fact that it destroys everything and everyone in reach and makes them think that they are living!  
  
He can't, and has never understood those who can't see it as if they were seeing but oblivious of the sunlight. Or the shadows it causes.  
  
They know better, the only ones who see it as it is.  
  
If only he knew...  
  
... what purpose there is for him or anything to continue existing, acting as if they liked it.  
  
He has been renewed after that strange explosion that killed everyone except him and amazed the police and the media. But then, their lucky survivor of the disaster disappeared when they came. Restored him, in a sense. Taught, used, polished, perfected, like the beautiful doll he is and should be, so much beauty. Made so that people may look at him, touch him, make him do things, a perfect marionette, a marionette of china.  
  
Living but not living.  
  
He thought he might actually come to liking it.  
  
Because porcelain dolls don't have hearts.  
  
Author's notes: like always, nothing special. R&R please? I don't expect such things any longer but hope anyway. Thanks. 


End file.
